


what a lovely way to burn

by amongthieves



Series: big trouble (losing control) [3]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, an attempt of exploring their relationship over the years of working together, characterization is hard, it was most definitely an attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amongthieves/pseuds/amongthieves
Summary: 1977. Rituals between men. A pattern.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Series: big trouble (losing control) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1482749
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	what a lovely way to burn

**Author's Note:**

> ok so shit. I wrote this with the intention of it being the final part of the little series that I created, but I realized after reading 505, that I wrote in a way that Bill and Holden had never slept together. soooo, take that with a grain of salt, because I guess I'm retconning my own work lmao. I guess this can be read separately, without including any of the other works, as it's more of a prelude.
> 
> anyways, I hope y'all enjoy!! I'm definitely gonna be writing more for them... cause I'm stuck in this billholden hell.

1977\. In a dingy smoke filled bar, the news that Elvis Presley has passed away at the tender age of 42 comes through on the TV. It doesn't take too long after the initial discovery that causes a small chatter in the bar that Heartbreak Hotel croons on, and Bill finds himself tapping his finger momentarily. 

He finishes his cigarette, twisting it into the grime coated ash tray before pulling out a second, lighting it with a deep inhale. With his fingers around a comforting glass of whiskey, he watches as the bartender has his back turned to Bill, eyes on the TV. Bill flicks his gaze over to the door, and almost on cue, Holden comes through.

His hair's slightly dishevelled, and he looks as though he's committed an atrocious sin. Although, his suit is perfectly immaculate and of course it's Holden who wears his full suit out to the bar at this time of the night. The look of guilt wavers for a second until he glances at the TV, sliding into a bar stool next to Bill. There's a noticeable space kept between them.

"Elvis? At 1am? Really?"

"The best time for Elvis." The bartender quips back, sliding a glass of water over towards Holden. Bill snorts. Holden's always comes off as a wet blanket during social gatherings, but it works well for both of them, since one of Bill's best skills he enjoys to flex is commanding an entire room. It's difficult when both partners carry this trait. It's nice that Holden takes the passenger seat 99 percent of the time.

Out the corner of his eye, Bill notices Holden hyper focused on his glass. It's nothing new, as Holden's gaze can be extremely intense at times, but after what had just transpired between them, it's enough to cause a slight worry in Bill's gut.

"You having any regrets?" 

"No." Holden bites back in a hushed whisper, before taking a large gulp of his water. Bill nurses his whiskey. The TV volume is turned down, and the bartender searches through a collection of vinyls. After a few moments, Elvis plays louder than it had on the TV. "Are you?"

'Wise men say only fools rush in' - the first few lyrics of the vinyl hang in the air, and Bill can't help but shake his head as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, and glance at Holden for a moment. They look at each other like two co-workers stuck on a difficult case, neither of them able to figure out where to go next. 

Bill turns his head again and blows smoke into the air. "No."

A ritual. They do it all the time.

"There's a hickey on your neck." Bill busies his mouth with his smoke as he watches Holden reach a hand up to the mark, touching it as if contact with the bruise would make it suddenly go away. Holden rubs at it nervously, his posture changing. "Relax. You're a red blooded American man in California. No one's going to assume what you're thinking of."

He considers for a moment taking out a third cigarette, but decides against it. Holden removes his hand and looks to the bartender for some sort of guidance, but the bartender keeps his back to him as he wipes down the bottles collecting dust.

"Can I get a beer here for my friend?" Bill speaks up, and Holden clenches his jaw, looking down at the bar counter. The bartender turns around and pulls out a glass, grabbing whatever's on tap and placing it in front of Holden.

"Thanks. Put it on my tab. Room 213."

"You got it." The bartender punches out a receipt and has Bill sign at the bottom, and he does so with a generous tip - all thanks to the FBI's daily food allowance. They get more than needed, especially for what his and Holden's tastes are.

"Bill, I think we need to address what that just was."

"You know, Holden, I don't think we need to."

Holden's smart. He knows not to chase things that yield no results. The beer is placed on a coaster in front of Holden, and he slams it down (out of spite? out of eagerness to leave? Bill has no idea) before he slides off the stool and leaves the bar without a glance back.

With a small snort into his glass, Bill imagines Holden stomping off to their shared room, seeing the mess of the sheets, of some of their clothes haphazardly thrown onto the floor, the condensation on the windows. All little reminders that they've crossed a line that means no return.

"Seems like a pain." The bartender grabs the empty glass, a bit of foam at the bottom. 

"Yeah. You have no idea. Thanks." Bill slides his empty glass over and the bartender gives him a small reassuring nod. Another glass is put into his hands.

"On me." The bartender smiles, and it's a soft smile like the kind Holden gives him when he's told he's done a good job.

If they address whatever it was they had just done in the motel room for a couple of hours, Bill's not sure he could go home. The guilt and shame he's been dreading is still at bay, and instead, there's a small sense of relief. He had enjoyed it, and he knows Holden had too, but in the end, it means nothing. A pent up release of overflowing emotions from their case. From the interviews that went wrong on this trip. To coming up with nothing to show for.

When Bill returns to the room, stumbling slightly, it's dimly lit by one of the bedside lamps. Holden sits on his bed, cleanly made, and has his nose buried in the newspaper. He doesn't even greet Bill when he steps in, and he doesn't make a sound as Bill stands at the edge of his bed, wavering slightly.

"You're drunk." Holden mumbles, and he peers over the top of the newspaper. Bill nods. Holden huffs and sets the newspaper aside, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows it's futile to talk. Bill knows this too.

Bill drops one knee onto the bed, watching it sink towards him, and watches as Holden narrows his eyes at him.

"I can go back to my own bed if you want."

Holden doesn't say anything as Bill settles onto the bed and crawls over to Holden, hand running up his chest, gently nudging the unbuttoned dress shirt open. 

"Holden, you're fucking gorgeous, you know that?" Bill slurs, and Holden sighs into his ear, wrapping himself up in whatever dangerous game they've started.

The plane ride home the next day is a quiet one. Bill keeps his eyes closed, Aspirin nearby. Holden says closes to nothing, apart from a few comments on the failed interview, and how they can do better next time. 

This is how it starts. They can do better next time, Holden said. Maybe not entirely referring to the interviews. But it starts a pattern. 

Iowa. California again. Whenever Bill hears Elvis on the radio, played in memoriam, he can't help but think of Holden sitting stiff beside him at the bar, hickey on his neck. Just like he had assumed, no one had made a comment when they returned. Even Holden didn't comment on it again.

Nancy asks him how he's getting along with the new guy. Bill states it's just fine and returns back to his newspaper, coffee poured by Nancy as she kisses him on the top of the head. In Virginia, whatever he and Holden has doesn't exist. It enters a limbo state, and Bill's more than content to leave it at that while they return to their lives in this untarnished state.

They stand in the elevator, waiting to reach the basement. Shoulder to shoulder, Bill can see Holden looking at him in a way that he doesn't feel all too comfortable about. It's tender, and when the elevator doors open, Bill steps out first.

They've done a great job getting more info from Kemper, something that makes Holden ecstatic and a little more confident. When Wendy Carr enters the team as a consultant, Bill feels the dynamic shift in a positive direction. They want her to stay around full-time, but she's not sure how it can happen. Her life is in Boston, and Bill wonders for a moment what it would be like to be in Boston with Holden. To have another life to return to.

On a Tuesday night, Bill wonders if it's cruel to allow this, looking at Holden across the dinner table, as Nancy sits beside him. She's talking about Brian, telling Holden about some of his school projects, and Holden's listening with a genuine interest. Nancy had insisted on Holden coming over for dinner, and Bill knows better than to try and change her mind. She had even done up a beautiful roast, one of his favourites, and Holden had been evenly polite through out the whole evening.

When he sees Holden off to the door, they exchange small pleasantries that keep it neutral. Nancy remarks how sweet Holden is, and Bill looks at the bottle of wine on the counter, unopened, that Holden had brought. She makes a comment of how some girl will be lucky to scoop him up, that he's so handsome, and Bill gives Nancy a deadpan look. She teases him, and Bill can't even begin to fathom how he's gotten himself in this position.

1978\. When Holden successfully removes the deviant words from the FBI list, Bill buys them both a beer as celebration. They're on the beach in California on their next investigation, in the dark, and all Bill can feel is sand between his fingers as he leans back, the other hand wrapped around a beer. Holden plucks the bottle from his fingers, and Bill sighs loudly.

"I asked if you wanted another beer."

"I want your beer." And Bill can hardly see it, but Holden smiles and finishes off the rest of the bottle. When he sets it aside, he begins to crawl on top of Bill, and Bill feels his stomach flip. He hadn't expected much else, considering their lack of privacy in the area, but he can only imagine the shit this would bring if they were found out. 

"And I want to fuck you, but this isn't the greatest spot for that."

"You mean you didn't take me out to the secluded beach in the dark to have sex with me?"

Bill snorts, and he feels Holden's hand begin to work on his belt. He reaches down and stops him, and Holden whines.

"And get sand in every crack and crevice? No, Holden. Come on." Bill gets up and begins to head back to the car, and Holden follows behind him, the sound of waves crashing behind them. Bill puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car, keeping the lights off, allowing the radio to play. It picks up a station that's somewhat fuzzy, and once again, Elvis' voice sings a sultry tune.

Sun lights up the daytime, moon lights up the night, I light up when you call my name-

Bill sits in the back seat, and Holden climbs in. 

-

The music isn't all Elvis, and Bill's thankful for that. 

When they finish, Holden relaxes on top of him as he catches his breath, head resting on Bill's shoulder. Bill's sitting, back damp with sweat through his shirt against the car's leather, his cock softening as he exhales a heavy breath. The windows are blocked out with condensation, and the radio continues its mix from the early 60s.

It feels good to have Holden's weight against him. When it's over, they usually peel apart and go their separate ways. Holden showers, and Bill cleans himself up with a cloth and tosses the condom out. Then the remainder of the night is spent either falling asleep, or catching up on case files.

In this case, where they can't return to their own spaces, Bill feels unsure of how to continue.

"Did you always know this was something you wanted?" Holden's voice is quiet, and Bill gently lets his hands rest on Holden's lower back. Holden shivers, and Bill watches as he pulls back, looking at Bill directly. 

"I don't know. Maybe. Didn't really give it too much thought." Bill's lying, and he knows that Holden knows. Nothing gets past that freak of nature with how well he reads people.

"You know, you're much more affectionate than I thought you would be."

"And what makes you say that?" Bill frowns, realizing this conversation isn't one he wants to be having. "You know what, forget it." Affection is reversed for his wife, and Holden is merely an outlet. He's suddenly hyper aware of the hands on Holden's lower back, slowly tracing small circles.

"Bill-"

"Can you get off and clean up? I can't return the car like this."

"Yeah, of course." 

And just like that, Bill finds a way to separate them. Oil and water, when it's all said and done.

But when they return back to Quantico, Bill can't stop wondering about Holden's comment. Affectionate? When had he ever been affectionate to Holden? In the end, he doesn't give it much thought. Holden goes out on a case on his own time, and Bill keeps busy with paperwork. All is good.

The FBI hires Gregg Smith. Bill thinks it might be a good ice breaker to ask a few questions.

"Gregg." Bill's voice catches his attention, and Gregg looks up at Bill as though he's confused that Bill's even addressing him. "Are you married?" The confusion on his face grows.

"No?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Not... at the moment." Gregg clears his throat.

"Okay, well, entertain this old man. What do you consider affectionate towards a woman who's not yet your girlfriend?"

Gregg blinks, and a look of absolute fear crosses his face. Not the line of questioning he had expected from the lead man of the BSU. "Relax. You're not going to get in shit for answering me for this. Come on. It's just a bit of man to man."

"Well..." Just as he opens his mouth to answer, Wendy steps into the room and Gregg's eyes almost bulge out of his head as he tries to busy his hands with a file folder. Wendy looks at the two of them with her eyebrow raised.

"Good morning, Doctor Carr." Bill gives her a little salute and Wendy half smiles at him.

"Should I be concerned about Gregg?"

"Nah, we're just having a little chat."

"About what?" Wendy crosses her arms and walks up to the edge of the desk. Bill can see the sweat on Gregg's forehead.

"Affection, actually. Displays of affection." 

"Ah. An interesting and I'm sure, an in depth topic for the two of you." And just like Bill had thought, the conversation disinterests her and she excuses herself, stepping away. Gregg, while seeing a moment of escape, excuses himself and walks out of the office muttering how he forgot to put his parking pass out. 

Bill shrugs and sits back at his desk. He could ask Holden - but he doesn't want Holden to even bring it up again. Deciding to file the thought away, Bill smiles as he thinks of Holden's return on the following Wednesday evening. Four more days.

On the last day, waiting for his return, Holden calls him.

"Hey, Bill, don't worry about getting me from the airport. Debbie's coming to pick me up."

"Debbie?"

"My girlfriend. Debbie? Didn't I mention her?" Holden sounds like Holden, so damn sure of himself.

Bill stands at his phone, watching Nancy just arrive with Brian in tow through the front door. Brian keeps his eyes on the floor, and Nancy turns and disappears down the hallway with their son.

"No. You hadn't."

"Oh. Well, don't worry about it. Enjoy your evening. I'll see you on Monday." The phone clicks, and Bill pulls it back, staring in disbelief.

A girlfriend. Of course. Scooped up, just like Nancy had anticipated.

Bill surprises himself at the sudden wash of emotion that rolls through him. He closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, and wills it away. Within moments, it's gone. Compartmentalized for another day. Another year. Just like he's been doing all this time. It seems like a plethora of his repressed thoughts seem to contain Holden in one way or another (Holden in nothing else but Bill's shirt, a feeling of tenderness between them in the car, Holden's smile at him from across the cafeteria table).

1979\. Holden goes overboard. Bill's never seen him like this, spewing overly emotional deviant language to get a response from Speck. It works, it's beautiful, but they can't leave it in there. That evening, Bill tries to get a response from Holden, in the dark of their hotel room, but Holden shrugs him off. They sleep in separate beds. It takes Bill twice as long to fall asleep as usual, but when he does, the thought leaves his mind.

The next day, they redact the interview. If Bill's been lucky enough to keep his job after everything with Holden, he's not letting Holden sink ship this way. Not a fucking chance. 

1980\. It doesn't matter, because it looks like they're getting pulled into an investigation anyways. He looks forward to having it out with Holden, but the prick doesn't show up to work.

Bill gets a call from the hospital. Holden needs a pick up. Bill packs a bag, his mind blank as he hops into a cab to the airport. The entire time, he slams coffee cup by cup, brain fuzzy with thoughts of Holden in a hospital, far away from home. He needs to see him. It's been days since he heard from him - Bill had begun to think the worst.

The sight of Holden, in a hospital gown, neatly tucked into the bed, has him reeling. On the surface, he keeps his brow tightly knit, jaw clenched, anger seeping from every movement. Holden says it feels like a heart attack - the doctor is more than kind and placating. 

If Bill isn't tough on him, he's afraid he might break down. He makes sure that Holden wants to keep his distance.

"If you need anything-" He wants Holden to take him up on the offer, wants him to slide back into the car-

"I'll be fine."

So it's like that. "You're welcome." 

Holden slams the door. Bill drives off. The pattern stops dead in its tracks. The realization while he's driving home is enough for him to pull over on the side of the road on an empty street, whip out a smoke, and lean against the driver's side door. Fucking Holden Ford. That idiot is going to be the death of him.

Atlanta. The accidental killing of a neighbourhood kid in Bill's neighbourhood. Nancy's panic and overreaching about Brian's head. Stressed 24 hour stake outs. The presumed killer eluding them with a happy go lucky grin on his face. Holden always on the edge of his seat. Late night phone calls. But him and Holden? It's not complicated in the slightest, and Bill's glad to not add more to his balancing act. In fact, they feel as though everything that was behind them is drifting away. This time in Atlanta, it's a year of them being strictly nothing but co-workers. Holden doesn't ask about home, and Bill doesn't go into details.

Nancy leaves with Brian. Bill seeks comfort. Holden manages one arrest in Atlanta, but it's not enough.

1981\. A quiet Thursday night in June. Bill arrives at Holden's apartment. He tells him everything.

The pattern continues again, anew.


End file.
